


Heavy Hand for a Thief

by bardbrat



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Hair Brushing, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardbrat/pseuds/bardbrat
Summary: In denial of his true calling, the Dragonborn escapes into what he thinks might be the safety of the Thieves Guild. Proving so far to be a terrible thief, he faces a punishment at the hand of Brynjolf.
Relationships: Brynjolf/Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Heavy Hand for a Thief

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be nice to take a break for the week and write something that's just super self-indulgent for one of my OCs.
> 
> Fun Fact: I first played Skyrim in the year 2020. I quickly decided the Thieves Guild was my favorite, pictured Brynjolf as a dom/spanker (when he has time, gosh), and my Dragonborn thief as mostly just a submissive pervert. I needed to write at least one little story for him.

Torvas slunk into the Ragged Flagon like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Hardly anyone took notice of him. Vekel's gaze shifted in his direction briefly, with an expression that seemed to suggest he would take note if Torvas were to do anything he disapproved of. But then, that might only have to do with his being a barkeep by nature as well as in practice. Vex and Delvin were engaged in quiet conversation, Tonilia was heatedly debating the worth of a gold flagon with Sapphire, and Dirge was mumbling something dire and depressing under his breath like he usually was. No one had so little to do that they would pay attention to the Guild's newest, and so far most disappointing, thief.

Feeling a little more secure, Torvas made himself at home at one of the far tables, content to sit and feel sorry for himself. He slumped so far toward the tabletop that long strands of dark hair flowed loosely over his shoulders and brushed against the rough surface. Realizing how childish he probably looked, he attempted to sit up, though his shoulders remained hunched and dejected.

_Don't disappoint me, lad._

Bryjolf's words returned to the front of his mind once again. Despite the stern warning, Torvas had failed. He had been tasked with the theft of a magnificent jeweled box, an easy but profitable mark from one of Riften's wealthier houses, not that there were many of those to begin with. Not only had Torvas been caught in the act, but he also had been chased by a guard and nearly _caught_ if it hadn't been for the quick action of Brynjolf stepping in to create a distraction.

It all seemed to come back to Brynjolf, from Torvas's point of view. He had been on the run ever since finding out he was the _bloody Dragonborn_ , stumbling from one town to the next, finally ending up in Riften and running across a man who seemed too handsome to be real. Torvas's attraction to Brynjolf, in fact, was the entirety of why he had joined the Thieves' Guild at all, other than finding a place to hide. The older man's mysterious demeanor, piercing gaze, and roguish accent were all enough to make Torvas's heart race and his cock swell.

Those thoughts sent him squirming right there at the table, which he immediately stilled. Now was _not_ the time or place.

"Ah, lad! There you are."

He froze, mortified as his gaze swiveled up to see none other than the man of his fantasy standing in front of the table, eyes dark and unreadable. Torvas had not even noticed. Some thief!

"I've talked to Mercer, and he wants me to see to you. Up you get, I'd rather have this over with, and I imagine you would too."

_Have what over with?_ Torvas nodded as though he understood, getting to his feet clumsily enough that he kicked the chair, scuffing the leg loudly on the wooden floor. Everyone was staring in silence now, and it looked as though they could hardly wait for him to leave in order to speculate out of his hearing.

"This way, lad." Brynjolf had begun leading him out of the Flagon's far door and further into the Ratway, and despite Torvas feeling relieved to be out of sight of the other guild members, this was making him anxious as well.

"Down here? Is it safe? The last time, I ran across a couple of thugs, and they nearly took my head off," Torvas sighed, glancing up and down the dark passageways with more than a little trepidation.

"Oh, it's safe where we're going," Brynjolf replied reassuringly. "Besides, I thought you should be a little closer to a 'rough thug' yourself by now?"

Torvas blushed faintly at the teasing, though the older man had a point. He _should_ be better at this by now. Why wasn't he? "Where are we going?" he asked instead, trying to ignore the topic.

"Just inside here." Brynjolf stepped back from a doorway that loomed darkly ahead of them of a sudden, gesturing for Torvas to go in. He did so nervously, not going too far inside until the other man had lit a torch and carried it along to the other wall sconces, brightening the room considerably.

The sight that met Torvas's eyes then was unremarkable; it was a simple room with a roughly-carved table and chairs, a few metal mugs scattered here and there as though someone had gotten together for drinks and left in too much of a hurry to clean up. He heard Brynjolf close the door behind him, then turned to see him lean against it with his arms folded and a firm look on his face. Torvas's legs were suddenly quite weak. Authoritative men were absolutely his favorite. But again, this likely wasn't the time or place.

"Sit down," Brynjolf suggested, though he remained where he was against the door. Torvas was happy to do this, trying not to seem too eager, and carefully arranging his hands in his lap. "Now. You explain yourself, lad. What were you thinking, _running_ like that in plain sight, right in front of a guard, when you should have been calm enough to set the box down and try again another time? Haven't we taught you enough about thievery?"

This stern lecture had unfortunate side effects. Torvas cursed internally, shifting, trying to make absolutely sure that the stirring at the front of his trousers went unnoticed. Gods damn it all, why did he have to be like this when it was important?!

"I'm not sure. I just panicked, and then... It was too late." Torvas's tone was soft and subservient, but the explanation was far too short, and Brynjolf's lips turned down further as he glared.

"Aye, you did panic, that's for sure. But you _shouldn't_ have. I don't know how many more times it can be pounded into your head." The older man seemed to deflate a little then, running one hand through his hair for a moment before pushing off the door and walking to Torvas.

"Mercer thinks we should kick you out," he continued abruptly, stopping just in front of Torvas. "But I told him no. Not yet. Then he decided that if you were going to stay, you should be disciplined. And of course, he told me to do it."

Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl for Torvas. He had no desire to be kicked out, but the word 'discipline'... It ought not to have excited him, but it did. Far too much. "Sir, I don't... understand?" He had never addressed Brynjolf in this way before. For whatever reason, it felt right to just then.

"Well, Mercer outright suggested I flog you," Brynjolf chuckled, shaking his head. "But we needn't go that far. How old are you, lad?"

"Twenty," Torvas mumbled, his heart beginning to pound hard.

"About what I thought," Brynjolf replied, his tone beginning to change. To Torvas's surprise, he leaned down and spoke in a low, practically _sensuous_ murmur in the younger man's ear. "Flogging's too much, but I've always been of the opinion that boys your age can still benefit from a smacked bottom."

Torvas's hand moved again, probably in a way that was too obvious, as his trousers were obviously tented now. Brynjolf meant to _spank_ him? If the world had slowed before, now it had come to a complete halt.

"Don't misunderstand, lad," Brynjolf continued, moving away almost as though nothing had happened. "This won't be like getting turned over your mum's knee for stealing a sweetroll. Get up. Bend over the table."

The firmness of the older man's words, all trace of sensuousness now gone, only made Torvas _harder_. It was with great difficulty that he got up and shuffled toward the table, desperately hoping Brynjolf was somehow blind to the erection straining the front of his trousers. How filthy and depraved he must be, getting this excited at the thought of a spanking from the man he secretly lusted after.

Thankfully, soon enough he was bent over the table, feeling the rough edge of it jutting into his stomach. He knew he shouldn't be thinking this way, but he hoped Brynjolf was pleased by the sight of his upturned backside, even if it was still clad in woolen trousers. The idea of being bared nearly made him faint.

The next sound he heard was of Brynjolf sighing yet again, this time seeming distinctly exasperated and annoyed. "Alright, lad." Torvas felt a hand against his lower back and immediately stiffened, expecting pain, but Brynjolf was simply steadying him for what was to come. "We're going to do this until I think you've learned a lesson. Next time you think about doing something stupid on a heist, you remember how soundly punished you were today."

Torvas nearly groaned. He _did_ when the older man landed a hard smack to the seat of his trousers. Brynjolf's hand was large and firm, and it seemed he would not be going easy on Torvas.

"You always assess the situation. You don't act blindly. You don't take unnecessary risks. You follow orders. You keep your wits about you at all times." Each sentence had been punctuated with a firm slap to his rear, each sending a shudder through Torvas. Then Brynjolf began to strike him faster, without talking. Torvas's hands curled into fists on the tabletop, and rather than think about the lesson, he was thinking about the punishment.

Though muffled through fabric, each swat sounded loud and somewhat sharp in the nearly empty room. They also sent both a wave of heated pain and a burning tingle of pleasure straight through Torvas each time, seeming to target his cock directly, even if it was not being touched at all. In fact, all he had was the light friction through his trousers when his hips jerked with every smack, but it was nearly enough. He hoped to all the gods he wasn't about to climax in his pants, even if at the same time, he _wanted_ that.

"I don't know," he suddenly heard Brynjolf say, feeling him move away. Torvas gave a sharp little cry, not of pain, but of disappointment should that be all he was given. He tried to muffle it against the top of the table, but Brynjolf had certainly taken note. "I don't think this is enough. It never is, despite how heavy-handed I can get."

Torvas heard a soft rustle of fabric, but rather than feeling his trousers being tugged down, he instead felt something new press against his backside, something firm and oval in shape-

"It's Sapphire's hairbrush, in case you wonder," Brynjolf chuckled, seeming to anticipate any questions. "She knew what I wanted it for. You're not the first naughty lad I've taken in hand, and everyone knows it. But there is something different about you." The older man had begun stroking his backside with the flat of the brush, smoothing it in a circular pattern before tracing the round outline of the whole. It was all Torvas could do to stifle a desperate, longing whine, not altogether disappointed that Brynjolf hadn't removed his trousers, as long as he could get more pain and pleasure right now.

The first blow was sudden, sharply glancing off his right buttock with a crisp _smack_ despite the trousers. The next followed suit on the left side, and Torvas abandoned all pretense of propriety as he released a longing moan. The sting of the brush was different from the sting of Brynjolf's hand, harder and sharper, yet he discovered he might not be able to decide which he liked better.

"Desperate, aren't you," he heard Brynjolf murmur, landing heavy swats with the brush in a rhythmic pattern. "You've been a bad boy, and an awful thief, but there's a certain way you're enjoying this attention. Don't think I can't tell."

Torvas shook his head rapidly, though there was no denying it when his moans continued, and his hips jerked harder every time the brush connected with his backside. All he wanted then was to escape into his shame, perhaps run to an inn to hide, inspect his red bottom in the mirror, and with the lack of anything better to use, fall into bed and hump against it until he reached his climax.

"It's unfortunate. Some lads do enjoy a good hiding far more than others. Seems you might be one of them." The brush had ceased, though Torvas had not quite noticed yet. He heard it clatter against the top of the table, and then he gasped sharply when the other man's hips suddenly pressed up against him, the hard length of his erection easily discernable through both of their trousers.

"And I enjoy it, if the lad does," Brynjolf murmured. "What do you want now? Think I'll yank down your trousers, take my cock out, fuck you? Oh, no. No, lad." Despite this, he was making shallow little thrusts against Torvas's backside, nearly driving him mad.

"I've seen how you look at me. That lust was there from the very first day, wasn't it? If I'd immediately asked to have sex with you, rather than join the Guild, you would have still said yes, wouldn't you?"

Torvas could hardly find his words. Brynjolf had stopped moving his hips, and instead, he reached around and began fingering the younger man's cock through his trousers. "I... yes, sir, I want you... I want you so badly-"

"Hm. Perhaps we'll reach a deal, then. But first, go on. Rut against my hand, yes, just like that. You need release _now_ , and it's such an embarrassment to come inside your pants, isn't it?"

Brynjolf's softly spoken words were too much. Torvas was soon thrusting his hips forward desperately against the hand pressed to him. The burning embarrassment of his blush combined with the searing ecstasy of his backside combined to result in an orgasm so intense that Torvas saw stars bursting behind his closed eyelids.

It took some time before Brynjolf moved him, pulling him up and turning him around, staring at him hard rather than kissing him the way Torvas wanted. "Here's what we'll do, lad. You enjoy this too much. It's not a punishment, is it? Perhaps the punishment will be in the absence of it. You won't get any such attention from me again if you continue the way you have been. But if you improve, if you rise through the ranks, well..."

One of his large hands snaked down, cupping and squeezing Torvas's bottom. "You can have more. Hard as you like. And I would love to see this arse bared and turning red under my attention..." He had paused, moving in again, his breath hot against Torvas's neck. "You'll learn that I don't fuck anyone who's not a skilled thief, though. So improve. Your next reward could perhaps be getting to wrap your lips around my hard cock, showing me how talented you are at swallowing my seed after I've smacked you raw. Does any of this sound motivating?"

"Yes, sir, please," Torvas panted, nodding. He was spent and couldn't stir again for now, but had the feeling he would be pleasuring himself to Brynjolf's words later that night. "I'll be the best thief ever, I swear-"

Brynjolf's chuckle cut him off, though it was affectionate mirth rather than mocking. "We'll see. Now I think you'd better get those trousers changed and trot yourself to Delvin to ask for a new job. You have a lot of work to do."

Rather than reply, Torvas immediately turned to obey, feeling Brynjolf swat his backside on the way as a farewell. It made him hurry on back through the Ratway, rubbing the seat of his trousers and trying to soothe the sore skin underneath. This had been worth it, all of it, and Brynjolf would see just how serious he was. Torvas was motivated enough now that he even thought he could do something as ridiculous as overthrow Frey as the guild leader. He _would_ see.


End file.
